


Bolt From The Blue

by Ahhuya



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Escape, Gen, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Major Character Injury, Torture, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahhuya/pseuds/Ahhuya
Summary: He stretches his arms, letting the cold move through his fingers before it flows away. It is the only thing needed to let Ilun glare at him from her side of the room.“What is your species doing here? You freeze to death even inside a building,” she remarks, her yellow eyes following Shiro’s every movement.“We were supposed to be home by now,” Shiro sighs as he puts his hands back in his lap. The ropes binding his wrists together bite in his skin. “We shouldn’t have been captured.”“You are a soldier, aren’t you?” Ilun asks as she lifts her head. “Then you should know the only thing to do is to wait for someone being kind enough to kill you.”Shiro nods slightly.“Or you hope your friends will miss you enough that they’ll come get you,” Vrek adds as he sits up.“No one from Aschenwelt will miss us though,” Shiro looks at his fellow soldiers, deep asleep against the wall. “Guess that mercy kill is all we have.”After being captured by rogue Galra, Shiro needs to sit out his capture with two unexpected friends. All while waiting for an uncertain rescue.Part of the Song of Heroes Zine, Piece 8 within the Zine (see collection)





	Bolt From The Blue

**Author's Note:**

> After all these months, I can finally post this fic! It was for my second zine ever, and my first Voltron zine, and it was so amazing to work on. The universe we created turned out really beautiful. If you haven't gotten the zine, and want more context of this piece, check out the collection with other work featured in the zine.  
This piece takes place after Shiro's military campaign to the unexplored Kala islands. There, he and his squadron are captured by Galra, and used in their druids' rituals.

Time means nothing. The years of training at the academy fade against the agony of being unable to move. Days blend into one as he watches the shadows walk around the camp, planning without acting.

Somewhere along the line, he stops caring all together. He doesn’t know how long he’s been stuck; he doesn’t _ want _to know. He could have been a prisoner for more than a year and it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s no other place to run to.

The camp grows sometimes, new people coming in with the same confused look on their face that Shiro once had. One by one, they disappear again. In the time he’s been captured, at least three of his own squadron have left, and Shiro is more than sure they will never come back to him or Aschenwelt. He’s stopped growing attached to anyone, knowing that in the end it will hurt as bad as the markings given to him.

Most of the time, he stares at the walls. The holes in the broken mudbrick show pieces of sky and the ice cold, floating rocks through them. Somewhere, he can see the birds, flying freely without worry. He’d give so much to be one of them.

The holes are big enough to watch the shuffling figures outside, but too small to ever allow him to escape. He won’t start an attempt; it’s futile with his hands bound and a stronger enemy prepared for anything.

A soft chill of cold air passes underneath the makeshift door, sending a wave of chills over Shiro’s body. He curls in on himself against the wall. It doesn’t help any. He can’t stop the shivering; he was never one to like the cold.

When he’s given himself enough body heat again, he lets his eyes drift across the room. The guards had led out two more of his squadron during the last dawn. He’s taught himself to stop listening to the voices outside, forcing himself to drown out the source of the distant screaming. Yet it doesn’t keep away the shivers no amount of warmth can stop. Now it’s just him, two other soldiers who look like they don’t need to be dragged outside to disappear from his grasp, and two Galra, sitting in the corner closest to him. There’s Ilun, and then there’s Vrek, apparently friends though nothing tells Shiro they enjoy each other’s presence. They’re not with their captors, their snarls at arrival made that much clear.

He stretches his arms, letting the cold move through his fingers before it flows away. It is the only thing needed to let Ilun glare at him from her side of the room.

“What is your species doing here? You freeze to death even inside a building,” she remarks, her yellow eyes following Shiro’s every movement.

“We were supposed to be home by now,” Shiro sighs as he puts his hands back in his lap. The ropes binding his wrists together bite in his skin. “We shouldn’t have been captured.”

“You are a soldier, aren’t you?” Ilun asks as she lifts her head. “Then you should know the only thing to do is to wait for someone being kind enough to kill you.”

Shiro nods slightly.

“Or you hope your friends will miss you enough that they’ll come get you,” Vrek adds as he sits up.

“No one from Aschenwelt will miss us though,” Shiro looks at his fellow soldiers, deep asleep against the wall. “Guess that mercy kill is all we have.”

A part of him hopes that the soft movement outside is one of the druids waking up and ending it for him. But the night stays silent instead. He’ll live for at least another day, perhaps another month or year with the same insecurity. Instead of a mercy kill, it’s just the cold creeping back inside, freezing his bones once more.

**…**

He can’t remember the last time he’s been outside without getting hurt, but when his captors step in and shove everyone out, the icy air almost doesn’t feel as bad. The sky is burning in red, no clouds to reflect the soon setting sun or preserve any of the warmth formed on the island.

His group is sat down next to the wall of their shack, hands bounds behind their back and tied to the wall. There is a fire burning in the middle of the camp, small but just large enough to spread some of its heat to the prisoners.

High structures surround them, traces of any decoration have long been destroyed by time. Yet the solemn structures calm him as they keep any harsh winds away from the camp for now.

It’s silent as they sit outside. The druids gather around the fire, talking about rituals Shiro doesn’t want to know the details of. He doesn’t want to understand whatever fate is waiting for him.

“It’s sad.” Ilun watches the surrounding ruins as she breaks the silence. “This place used to be sacred.”

“What kind of god would want to live here?” Shiro looks around the place. The buildings are a mere shell of their former glory; in no state to be worth much of a divine presence. Not with the current disaster surrounding it.

“The ones your people only think of as plain stories.” Her gaze fixates on the sky. “But I guess this is all just a dream to you, isn’t it, soldier?”

“A very bad one,” Shiro groans, leaning back to let his head rest against the wall. The feeling is real, but nothing else is. In the end, it’s safer to live in a dream, because it means that one day he’ll wake up and continue his life as normal.

“It’s reality.” Ilun breaks the illusion like it was never there. “None of us can escape it.”

“One of us did.”

“Did he really?”

“No,” Shiro admits. Because Ilun is right. There is no way out.

Ilun’s eyes switch from the ruins to the dark rocks in the distance, floating close by their own island. It’s covered in the dark shadows of the night. Shiro can barely make out the plants, the small movement in the soft breeze. But whatever Ilun is seeing, Shiro can’t find it in the shadows.

“What is it?” Shiro watches Ilun’s expression, trying to find an answer in her unreadable features.

A small grin forms on her face. “Vrek’s optimism seems to have found us.” Her eyes track the surrounding cliffs. “I hope you still know how to fight, soldier. You’re going to need it.”

Shiro frowns as he gives the night one more look. There’s nothing out there. Perhaps Vrek’s positivity has finally reached its end, giving Ilun a reason to celebrate before the entire camp turns dark.

There’s strong hand around his arm, pulling him up and shoving him back to the shack. Despite Ilun looking brighter than ever, Shiro can’t find any hope inside of him.

**…**

It takes almost an entire day for Shiro to admit he was wrong. For him, there is no warning for what’s coming. He misses the single blade striking the center of the camp, and only hears the screams that are different than normal when it’s already too late.

Through the voices, hurried footsteps sound. The wooden panel in the door opening gets shoved aside, but instead of the expected masked face, it’s only a piece of cloth hiding the person’s face.

At the sight, Ilun and Vrek sit up. The new arriver takes in the room before he runs to the two Galra and cuts them lose. Judging by the way he’s dressed and how they interact, Shiro guesses they’re friends.

“Take these,” the Galra says as he reaches to his back and pulls out two knives, handing them Ilun and Vrek. “_ Don’t _lose them again.”

“You almost make it seem like this isn’t how you found us.” Vrek laughs as he takes the knife and lets it run across his fingers.

“I’d rather not need to organize another rescue.”

“What would we do without you, Ulaz.” Vrek pokes the Galra in his side before running out of the shack, following Ilun who had already walked out.

“You’d obviously be dead,” Ulaz mutters before he scans the rest of the room.

Shiro can’t take his eyes off the man. Even when his hands have been cut free and he runs over to his fellow soldiers, he tries to keep the man in his sight.

“Do you know how to fight?” Ulaz asks, his eyes narrowing as he turns his attention to the sounds outside.

Shiro nods, accompanied by a soft “yes” from his friends.

“Then go. Try to escape.” Ulaz turns to the door, only looking back once. “The Kala islands are no place for you.” Then he’s gone, leaving the exit open with the insecurity of battle in waiting.

Shiro isn’t one to run away. Not even in the face of a possible escape from an almost eternal torture does the thought of running back to Aschenwelt cross his mind. Maybe it isn’t just his conscience stopping him, perhaps it’s the deep knowledge that there is no place to run to, no escape from his personal hell.

The others don’t share his mindset. The moment Ulaz leaves the building, they exchange a quick, scared look before running out. They don’t bother to wait for Shiro, he doesn’t blame them. Through the holes in the wall, Shiro watches them storm out and disappear like everyone has gone before. Lightning strikes under a cloudless sky.

He takes a few deep breaths, lets his fingers run across the wall before walking to the door. The chaos surrounds him immediately. Bright purple lightning runs across the island, blinding him. The scent of blood hangs in the air. It’s unnatural, it’s war.

People run around the ruins, scattered in an attempt to drive away the other force. He uses the uncoordinated attacks to plan his own fight. Although he’s unarmed, and his muscles are weakened from the long imprisonment, his body still knows how to take down an enemy.

One by one they fall. Slowly strategies are changed, and attack patterns move.

He can see a druid moving closer from the corner of his eye. Their hand is cloaked in purple lightning, ready to strike. The targeted Blade doesn’t notice, doesn’t have time to react. He’s too busy fighting off three enemies already, the fourth can be enough to bring it to an end.

Shiro’s stopped thinking a long time ago. His body moves without him consciously telling to. He doesn’t know if the Blade notices him. He probably doesn’t.

The lightning hits him, but he can’t feel the pain. Not until the dark, filthy nails of the druid reach out to him and scratch through his flesh. It burns and most of all, it feels wrong. The druid slips past him, but Shiro doesn’t bother going after them. He doesn’t bother to look up when he hears the crushing of bone behind him. The sound of his own blood pumping in his ears is too loud anyways.

The few steps it takes to collapses behind a broken wall are harder than every second he has had to watch his own friends die. He groans as he sits down and lets his right arm lay next to him. He can’t call it his own anymore.

He can hear the blood dripping on the ground, feel the cold air seep into his skin. Whatever he’s holding to his side is no longer an arm. It’s a mangled limb that radiates pain with every heartbeat.

‘Deep breaths’ is what he tells himself. Deep breaths are what can get him through the worst, before he blood loss claims him. If this is his mercy kill, it’s not what he’s expected. He’s sure Ilun’s claws to his throat would a better way to go, even accompanied with the snarky comments of pessimism. Dying in battle may be seen as a great honor, but to Shiro, there is nothing better than returning home unscathed. Wherever that home may be.

He vaguely notices the movement besides him and almost hopes it’s another druid ready to finish their job. But the hands running across his ruined skin are soft and kind, avoiding the worst parts of the arm as they move it from his sight.

“Stay still,” a familiar voice sounds when Shiro tries to get away with the last of strength, despite everything in him saying it’s safe. Through the haze of his vision, Shiro can make out Ulaz’s features. “You will die if we don’t take care of this.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice cracking so much he doesn’t think he’s understandable.

“The arm is damaged beyond repair. You either bleed out or it gets infected.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Why save me?”

“I am sure Antok appreciates not having to deal with a new scar because of you,” Ulaz says calmly. His fingers lose some of their softness as nails move around his skin in an attempt to find their own way around. “You give a sense of hope with that recklessness.”

If he wasn’t suffering in pain, Shiro’s sure he would be laughing at that. Instead he lets out another groan and leans his head back against the ruin.

“I will have to cut it off,” Ulaz sighs. “You won’t last until the end of this battle, and we can’t force the other Blades to cover us any longer.”

Shiro doesn’t expect to hear anything else. He takes another deep breath and nods. There’s no need for a warning about the pain; nothing can hurt more than bleeding out in a tundra abandoned by the gods. 

The glimmering of a blade - long, shining purple - catches his eye. No warning follows, though Shiro has come not to expect them since he got on the islands of Kala. The metal hits his skin quick and hot, a druid strike all over again. Except now, when it’s over, there’s nothing left at his side.

Shiro has no time to register the newly flowing blood from the stump. As quick as the knife had sliced through his skin, it returns, burning this time. When it presses against his flesh, Shiro lets out a muffled scream. He has no more strength to fight the flow of pain. Only when Ulaz holds his shoulder, nails digging slightly into his skin, does Shiro find himself dragged from his haze.

“That should be enough.” Ulaz stands. Shiro doesn’t look at the arm again, afraid to look at the fresh burns and the part of his body he can no longer call his own. He wants to close his eyes and sleep the nightmare away, but every survival instinct within him insists that he stay awake until the battle is over.

So he takes a deep breath and braces his left hand against the wall, raising himself up. He overcorrects his weight, stumbles, and grips the wall even more tightly.

“You should not try to fight like this.”

“You’ve already done enough,” Shiro grunts through his teeth. One arm down doesn’t stop him. If he’s supposed to be a soldier, not meant to come home, than he might as well die fighting now. “I need to help them.”

Ulaz reaches for his shoulder too late. Shiro is already on his way back to the battlefield. Numerous druids and Blades lay dead across the ground. Most of the fighting is reaching an end, the last few enemies being taken care of.

His footsteps are heavy across the grass. Surely somewhere, there is still someone waiting for him. He’s focused on one goal. It’s the only thing that keeps him going. The stubbornness he’s been scolded for before is all he needs to fight.

A druid finds him before he sees them. A hand reaches out to him and in a reflex, he manages to stop it. It’s only one hand he can hold, nothing stops the other one from lashing out.

There is a slash across his face, nails, covered in dirt, digging deep. Blood runs over his nose and Shiro stops in his own tracks. This is the end. Not the imprisonment nor the wait for an unknown fate… it’s the final wound that takes him down.

But before the druid can land another attack, they release him and fall to the ground in a lifeless heap. A knife stick out from their back. The Blade walking towards him gives him the same grim smile he’s seen many times before. But Shiro stumbles before he can thank her.

“When I told you to wait for a mercy kill, that was before we got to save you.” Ilun holds his shoulder and helps him down on the ground. Footsteps come closer, but Ilun doesn’t look away from him. The camp is dead, druids defeated. The thought of still being surrounded by Galra almost doesn’t cross his mind. He lets his eyes drift shut as he listens to the surrounding voices. Whatever will happen, he’s at least gone down with pride.

“We should take him with us,” one of the Blades offers. Shiro can’t make out who, but he guesses it’s Ulaz.

“Why?”

“He has no one coming for him. His friends are dead.” He can see Vrek kneel down beside him through his slit eyes. A clawed hand runs through his hair, smearing it with even more blood. “He’s nice.”

“He did try to help us,” Ilun says, “we can at least return some kind of favor.”

There is a mix of hums and more talking, but it’s unclear through the fog inside Shiro’s mind. He’s exhausted, his missing arm dragging him down into an unwanted slumber.

In the burning red of the dying sun, Shiro finally lets himself go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ahhuya)


End file.
